Here we go into April! How it got here so quickly I do not know, but I am ever thankful! I think this may be the official start of riding season, but then who the hell knows. I know that I rode to my tax appointment for the first time in my life back in February, so maybe riding season has already been kicked off? What is the official riding season in Iowa? When does it start? When does riding season end? What marked event starts the Iowa riding season? Is it the same start and end of the Iowa riding season for everyone? The answer to all of those and many more questions about riding season in Iowa is, who the hell knows! Riding season for everyone is different. Some are fair weather riders, some are all weather riders, and some just love working with and playing with motorcycles and motorcycle types. They do not even care to ride much distance but are more of a motorcycle voyeur type of personality. They love motorcycles and all they represent including the people and the culture but never rack up many miles. Sometimes those people have way more bikes and stuff than they can ever really use even. It takes all kinds though to make up the Iowa riding collective, the Iowa Motorcycle culture, the foundation of two and three wheels that put us in the top five per capita in motorcycle ownership in the nation. We own one motorcycle for every about every 18 people in Iowa, so that maths out to about 180,000 motorcycles registered in the state of Iowa. Pretty stellar numbers considering our abbreviated riding season due to winter.
What is my point about all this rambling? Well, we have a strong motorcycle culture in Iowa. We have a varied interest in types of bikes and when and how we ride. We have a varied age of riders, although lacking in the younger generation that we need to remedy, but still varied in age. We have many varieties of types of motorcycle events in Iowa as well. No matter how varied in our type of love for all motorcycle, all of this comes together and needs to come together so that we can have a collective voice to stand up for our rights. We need to band together to be able to maintain our freedom of the road and be able to freely ride another day. I implore you to at a minimum, be a member of organizations like the Motorcycle Riders Foundation, National Council of Informed Riders, and your Iowa Motorcycle Rights Organization! These entities need your support both monetary and otherwise to be able to keep tabs on what is coming down the pipe to limit our freedoms, and it is more frequent than you would imagine. I just wanted to make mention of the support needed for riders here at the onset of the riding season to keep it in the front of your thought processes as you are taking off on your early season riding. We need to work together to keep ourselves free!
On the Cover the
Over 15 years ago Kirk approached me at the Capital City Swap Meet and said he wanted to start up a benefit run for his buddy and coworker who lost a child. He asked for some help getting things organized and knew that to be successful, he would have to get the word out and he chose to partner with TRMI. Since then, the organization has grown and taken on it’s own life. The Sleeping Angels Foundation was born and the Fun Run is just one aspect of what they do to raise funds for families grieving a loss of a young one. Kirk is no longer with us, but the work of Kirk, Joey, and Todd has blossomed into an amaziing event with amazing people doing amazing things for families. Join us on the 15th Annual Sleeping Angels Fun Run in Boone at the Boone County Fairgrounds. More information can be found at thier website https://safiowa.com/ , or go on the Fun Run Facebook page Sleeping Angels Fun Run. After the run there will be some vittles, raffles, auctions, and a lot of fun! Hope to see you there!
As far as events in April, RT65 and BBHD are both having bike blessings in April, and a couple of bike shows and swap meets are on the list, but not a lot of large-scale events are rolling yet this early in the year. Big surprise with the weather this time of year, but some things are getting going. Get out to your favorite hang outs, make sure the bikes are ready to roll, and get right into the 2026 riding season! We would like to thank our loyal sponsors for advertising with us and for our deeply valued readers for keeping tabs on us every month and helping make this thing go around! We could not do this without your love and support, and we thank you deeply for such! Thanks all for being a part of our world! Ride safe, ride often, ride it like there is no tomorrow!
Vernon Schwarte
vernon@thunderroadsiowa.com
Proud Editor/Owner Thunder Roads Magazine of Iowa
Proud Owner Thunder Guns West and Thunder Guns
IMDA Board Member
Iowa COC Legislative Officer
Quote of the Month: “The road is there; it will always be there. You just must decide when to take it.” Chris Humphrey
‘Tis the season of projects, preparation and time change. Every 60-degree day teases and seduces until the inevitable “Sand be damned I’m taking all the bikes out” day happens. Of course, this morning it’s so foggy I could barely see across the yard. The television is showing people down south slamming into each other on the interstate because they couldn’t see what was in front of them. I guess it didn’t cross their minds to slow down as they barreled along, texting, sipping their Mocha loco Vicodin cappuccino while applying their makeup in the mirror. Maybe I will wait until tomorrow to get the latest scoot modification on the road for its testing phase.
Seeing all the pileups on TV reminded me of the girl I watched earlier this year miss a corner and slide thru the intersection while talking on the phone with one hand and trying to steer with the other. Her brain was distracted and disengaged from the task at hand. Seeing the effects of that reminded me of the seriousness of being connected with what is going on around me. We definitely live in a distracted-societal generation, losing focus due to the busyness and selfishness of life. Phones are just the iceberg tip of insidious diversions and intrusions that destroy our attention spans and dumb our minds with a myriad of overloads.
Like Captain Jack Sparrow trying to steer his ship on a cloudy night with a broken compass, we too, as individuals and as a nation, so desperately need a functioning
compass or navigation system to find our way. The recent State of the Union address really put into perspective the state of our dis-union and the differences in compass headings. The recently seen reality of the polarity and disparity is crushing. How did we ever allow things to degenerate to the point that one-half of our Congressional leadership would demonize patriotism, Biblical values, national history, national identity, military heroes and little girls? Craziness over common sense. G.K. Chesterton wrote that our love of country, when properly understood and applied, should be an extension of gratitude rather than a false claim of superiority. That a nation should be a God-directed moral community, not just an economic arrangement. When shared values, stories and civic loyalty disappears, social cohesion dissolves and chaos reigns. Chesterton also stated that “When people stop believing in God they don’t believe in nothing; they believe in anything”. Thus, the importance of recognizing our own weaknesses and the fact that apart from the Lord we are a disabled and lost people.
The Bible tells us that our minds should be stayed on Jesus. That is the only sure way to have proper direction, perspective, and attitude that is conducive to the everelusive perfect peace we all strive to attain. When it comes down to it, our minds or attention are like a magnet. One way draws and the other way repels. We are either focused, directed and drawn to God or distracted, attacked by false narratives, and diverted away from God. Today there is a battle for our minds and souls going on, a very real satanicled, anti-Christian culture that seeks to kill and destroy. The book of Colossians tells us to put on the new self which is being renewed in knowledge in the image of its Creator. To clothe ourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. To bear with each other and forgive one another as the Lord forgave us. And above all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity. This is the protection needed.
As I heard recently, “ It’s normal and ok not to be ok as long as we realize we are not ok.” With God, none of us are on our own, although even after salvation we struggle with wanting to steer the ship, to do life our own way. Real peace, proper direction, growth and joy come from having that compass pointing to Jesus.
Blessings, Mark
Mark and Karla are with the Christian Motorcyclists Association. Find out more about CMA and God’s plan for you at www.cmausa.org
The Biker Friendly Business Directory is a list of establishments throughout Iowa that sponsor the magazine. You can pick up your copy here every month. Let them know that you saw them in TRMI. If your business would like to advertise in Thunder Roads Iowa Biker Friendly Business Listing and become a part of the network, please email vernon@thunderroadsiowa.com
Biker Accessories
Dirty Biker Design
61 W Washington Street Winterset, Iowa 50273 www.DirtyBikerDesign.com 515-444-9050
If your business would like to advertise in Thunder Roads
Iowa Biker Friendly Business Listing and become a part of the network, please email vernon@ thunderroadsiowa.com
Grizzly’s Motorworx 102 2nd Ave SE Altoona, Iowa 50009
grizzlysmotorworx@hotmail.com 515-967-0898
not so USELESS RAMBLINGS not so USELESS RAMBLINGS
Who’s Caring for the
Caregivers?
Over the course of three months, a nurse supervisor at a large Midwestern hospital watched three early-career nurses leave their shifts and head to the emergency room for evaluation after acute anxiety episodes.
I don’t know these nurses personally, but I would like to believe they were not careless or indifferent. They had completed their schooling, passed their boards, and entered the profession with the same intention most nurses begin with — to care for people. I’m sure they knew the job would be challenging. Nursing has never been a soft profession. But what they stepped into may be harder than many of them expected.
them. There is no reserve bench in most facilities. You cannot tell patients to go home. So, staff are pulled from other units, leaving those areas short as well. The strain simply shifts down the hall. Unfortunately, this is not unusual.
Healthcare facilities across the region are operating with tighter margins than many people realize. Supply chain costs have risen. Reimbursements from Medicare and private insurers dictate revenue in ways most patients never see. Administrators speak of budgets, sustainability, and cost containment. Those pressures are real. But so is what is happening on the floor when cost containment translates into staffing instability.
In my last column, I wrote about how oversight failures can harm patients. After speaking with multiple frontline nurses across different care settings — hospitals, senior care facilities, hospice, and clinics — another concern has become clear: the system itself may be exhausting the very professionals it depends on.
Some of the nurses describing these pressures aren’t strangers in distant cities. They are riders. They are people you might stand next to at a rally or pass on a county highway on a Saturday afternoon.
When experienced nurses with over two decades at the bedside are leaving, when staffing shortages force units to operate below safe numbers, and when earlycareer nurses are overwhelmed before they have found their footing, the question is no longer about individual resilience. It is about structure.
One nurse described a shift that began with seven nurses scheduled to care for roughly thirty patients. Before the day even began, three had called in. No one was available to replace
When units run lean, every call light, every medication pass, every chart entry carries more cognitive weight. A missed break becomes routine. Overtime becomes expected. Agency nurses are brought in to fill gaps — often at higher cost — but without the same continuity or institutional familiarity. Experienced nurses retire or move on. New nurses step into environments that offer little buffer for error and even less room to breathe. The result is not a dramatic collapse; it is gradual erosion.
Several nurses I spoke with described a cultural shift that may be just as significant as the staffing shortages. Healthcare, in many settings, now operates less like a public service and more like a customer-facing industry.
Patient satisfaction scores carry weight. Online reviews matter Facilities compete for reputation and market share. Comfort, convenience, and perception have become measurable metrics.
There is nothing inherently wrong with wanting patients to feel respected and cared for. They should be. But when a nurse is responding to a critical patient and another call light is triggered for something non-urgent, the tension becomes obvious. When frontline staff are verbally degraded, blamed for systemic delays, or expected to absorb frustrations they did not create, the strain increases. When the priority becomes preserving
the facility’s image rather than supporting the staff delivering care, morale erodes quickly.
Healthcare professionals are trained to provide care — not to serve as shock absorbers for institutional dysfunction. Yet many describe feeling exactly that.
This shift also affects end-of-life care. Multiple nurses noted that since the pandemic, expectations around intervention have changed. Families understandably fear loss. But when aggressive life-saving measures are expected despite a terminal prognosis, ethical strain follows. Staff are often tasked with performing procedures that prolong suffering rather than comfort. My own family did not expect CPR, intubation, or defibrillation when my wife’s 100-year-old grandmother passed. These decisions are deeply personal and complex, but the emotional burden often falls squarely on the bedside team.
Layer these cultural pressures onto already strained staffing levels, and it becomes easier to understand why burnout appears earlier in careers and lingers longer for those who stay.
Burnout alone does not hollow out a profession. Retention does.
All the nurses I spoke to described a growing frustration not just with workload, but with how their experience is valued. Cost-of-living adjustments have stalled in some facilities for years. Meanwhile, entry-level wages rise in response to labor shortages, compressing pay scales between seasoned professionals and new graduates. What message does this send to experienced nurses? The message, whether intended or not, is that tenure matters less than vacancy.
At the same time, some facilities rely heavily on agency staffing to fill gaps. Agency nurses often earn higher hourly rates, reflecting market demand. For permanent staff who have invested decades in one institution, that disparity can feel like a kick in the teeth. Again, the economics may be defensible on paper, but on the floor, it is going to feel different.
Healthcare reimbursement structures complicate the picture further. Medicare and insurance payments dictate much of a facility’s operating revenue. Rising supply costs, infrastructure expenses, and uncompensated care all factor into the budget. Administrators are not operating in a vacuum of greed; they are navigating constraints.
But when the solution to constraint is chronically lean staffing, limited wage growth, and dependence on temporary labor,
Experienced nurses retire earlier. Mid-career professionals transition away from bedside roles. New nurses enter highacuity environments without a deep bench of mentors to guide them. The cycle feeds itself.
Again, healthcare does not fail in dramatic collapse; it erodes. It erodes when staffing gaps become routine. It erodes when experienced professionals walk away quietly. It erodes when new nurses encounter an environment so compressed that anxiety replaces confidence before competence has time to take root. It erodes when frontline staff absorb economic pressure, public frustration, and ethical strain all at once.
None of this suggests that hospitals are full of incompetent professionals. In fact, I’d argue that the opposite is true. The overwhelming majority of nurses and physicians continue to show up, shift after shift, doing difficult work under increasingly complicated circumstances.
When reimbursement structures reward efficiency over investment, when facilities compete for market share while struggling to retain seasoned staff, and when the culture of healthcare drifts toward customer service metrics at the expense of clinical stability, strain becomes inevitable.
The three young nurses who left their shifts for emergency evaluation are not the story. They are the warning. So are the veteran nurses with twenty years of experience who are considering leaving the bedside. So are the units that begin a shift fully staffed and end it scrambling to cover call-ins. If we care about patient outcomes, we must also care about the conditions under which care is delivered. A healthcare system cannot sustain excellence if it exhausts its workforce. Investment in staffing, mentorship, and long-term stability is not optional. It is foundational.
Patients deserve competent, focused, supported professionals at their bedside. And those professionals deserve a system that recognizes the gravity of the weight they carry. - David McCoy - david@thunderroadsiowa.com
Taproom 1890
307 E 7th St, Logan, IA (712) 644-3758
Kitchen Hours (extended hours for the bar):
Sunday 11am-7pm
Monday-Tuesday Closed
Wednesday 4pm-8pm
Thursday-Saturday 11am-10pm
The deadline for this issue was slowly creeping up on us, and we came to the realization that we had yet to locate an establishment with vittles tantalizing enough to make it onto the pages of TRMI. I began to do a little digging and discovered that unbeknownst to us, a new establishment had started slinging drinks and serving grub on main street in Logan. We rounded up Brad and Stacey and piled into Brad’s trusty Subaru like a group of hippies on our way to a music festival and pointed ourselves westward in search of a good meal.
We arrived at Taproom 1890 and the place was busy. We took a stool at the bar and ordered an ice-cold Bud Light in honor of our beloved Lurch who was undoubtedly celebrating his 50th birthday in Heaven that very day. (If you knew Lurch, I quite possibly could be reaching at the assumption his frosty beverage was consumed behind the pearly gates, but anyhoo…I digress.) We enjoyed our beverages while we waited for our table, and a short time later we were encouraged to shift ourselves to a high top near the kitchen. This seating arrangement was ideal, as we were able to sneak peeks at everything that left the kitchen on its way to their respective tables. There were sandwiches and steaks and salads making their way towards ultimate
consumption, and they all looked delicious. But what really caught my eye was a large, crispy crusted pizza that smelled divine as it floated past my seat.
Our waitress took our orders and brought us all a new beverage we enjoyed while munching on appetizers. We ordered some cheddar cheese curds and “The Big Dill” which came with creamy ranch on the side. The curds were piping hot and perfectly gooey. The fried pickles were of the sandwich sliced variety, battered, and fried to golden perfection. They were generous portions and kept us content while we waited on the main event.
Our plates arrived and it was go time. Brad ordered the High Noon Burger, which was a juicy 8 oz beef patty topped with bacon, cheese, onion petals, and barbeque sauce. On the side were 1890 fries (twisted taters) that were piping hot, fluffy potato in the inside and crispy on the outside. Stacey chose the Shroom & Swiss Burger which was also an 8 oz patty, seasoned and cooked to juicy perfection topped with mushrooms and Swiss cheese on a toasty bun. 1890 fries came with her burger as well, and she also had fresh sliced tomato, lettuce, onion, and pickle for her sammy. Vernon and I ordered the 1890 Ultimate pizza (minus the green peppers, because, well…. heartburn is a bitch). The pizza came out cut tavern style (in squares) which I actually think is Vernon’s favorite, because he really loves crispy crust on a pizza and he gets the most crust this way. The crust was to die for. The outside was crisp, and the inside was perfectly chewy, there was a generous portion of all the toppings, and even fresh mushrooms, not those weird canned ones some places use. The sauce was perfect in both the amount, and the fresh tomato taste. Top it all off with melty mozzarella, and I didn’t end up with a single complaint about this pie. It was delicious. We reluctantly shared a piece with both Brad and Stacey, and then tucked the leftovers into a to-go box to be savored at home.
Taproom 1890 had friendly waitstaff, cold drinks, and delicious food. We will definitely be going back for more! If pizza and burgers aren’t your deal, don’t worry. They have wraps, chicken options, other handheld options, and they also write some specials up on the board. On our visit, it was a sirloin…I love a good sirloin, but the smell of the pizza cooking in the kitchen over ruled that…don’t believe me? Go visit and then tell me I’m wrong… and when you stop by be sure to tell them Thunder Roads Magazine of Iowa sent you!
What do you get if you cross a loaf of bread with a vagina? A yeast infection.
“Why is my sister named Rose?” asked the boy. “Because your mum loves roses. You knew that already though, Cocaine.” Replied the dad.
What do you call a paraplegic stuck in a tower? In trouble.
What is the difference between Jesus and a painting of Jesus? You’ll only need a single nail to hang the picture up.
What do gay men and drug dealers have in common? They both get a lot of crack.
A child molester and a priest walk into a bar. He orders a drink.
Why does your grandma like gardening so much? Because she loves getting dirty down on her knees.
What do you call a nun in a wheelchair? Virgin Mobile.
Why do chipmunks make great girlfriends? Because they’re used to eating nuts.
Today was a really bad day. My mother-in-law was hit by a cab AND I lost my job as a cab driver!
What is the difference between onions and my dead neighbor? I cried when I cut up the onions.
How do you know if you’ve walked into a sex addicts counselling session? The psychologist will thank you for coming.
What do my boyfriend and instant noodles have in common? They’re both done in two minutes.
How do you know if a fisherman is single? He’ll be a Master Baiter.
What do KFC and a brothel have in common? They’re both full of greasy chicks.
What do you call Snoop Dogg in a hot air balloon? Higher than usual.
Where can you never take an orphan for dinner? A family restaurant.
Why do cats make the perfect animal for experimentation? Because they have nine lives.
I bought my blind friend a cheese grater for his birthday. He later told me it was the most violent book he’d ever read.
‘You the bomb.’ ‘No, you the bomb.’ A compliment in the US, an argument in the Middle East.
Man: How do you prepare your chicken? Waiter: Nothing special, we just tell them they’re going to die.
What is a terrorists favorite cartoon to watch at night? Osamas in pajamas.
Why are obese jokes so offensive? Because fat people have enough on their plate.
Who is Bill Cosby’s favorite Disney princess? Sleeping Beauty.
What do you call an Australian visiting the UK on holiday? Returning to the scene of the crime.
Why are carpenters never horny after work? Because they’ve already spent all day getting hammered and nailing things.
What is the worst thing your sibling can steal from you? Your virginity.
What has four legs and a hand? A lion in a daycare center.
How do you know when the dishwasher has stopped working? She’ll be sleeping next to you.
How many rabbits does it take to keep warm? It depends on how big their skins are.
What is worse than seeing your sibling drown? Getting the water bill.
Son: Dad, if I told you I was gay, would you still love me?
Dad: Don’t be silly son, you were an accident. I never loved you in the first place.
My girlfriend’s dog died, so I bought her another, identical one. She just screamed at me and said: “What am I meant to do with two dead dogs?!?”
Son: How do stars die? Dad: An overdose, usually.
Welcome to Plastic Surgery Anonymous. Nice to see so many new faces.
Sex is like air. It only matters if you aren’t getting any.
If you think I would joke about Alzheimer’s, forget it.
I tried to warn my cousin about playing Russian roulette. It went in one ear and out the other.
I’ll never forget my dad’s last words. “Erase my search history, son.”
Doctor: “You’ll be at peace soon.” Man: “Am I dying?” Doctor: “No, but your wife is.”
If someone burns to death, do they get a discount at the crematorium?
If you think your life is bad, how would you like to be an egg? You get laid once in life. It takes 4 minutes to get hard, but only 2 to get soft. You share your box with 11 other guys. Worst of all, the only chick who ever sat on your face was your mother.
Life is like a box of chocolates. It doesn’t last long for fat people.
One man’s trash is another man’s treasure. Lovely saying. Terrible way to find out you’re adopted.
Don’t challenge Death to a pillow fight. Unless you’re prepared for the reaper cushions.
My dad died when we couldn’t remember his blood type. As he died, he kept insisting for us to “be positive,” but it’s hard without him.
Patient: Oh doctor, I’m just so nervous. This is my first operation. Doctor: Don’t worry. Mine too.
The doctor gave me one year to live, so I shot him. The judge gave me 15 years. Problem solved.
Patient: “Oh Doctor, I’m starting to forget things.” Doctor: “Since when have you had this condition?” Patient: “What condition?”
Man with cancer: “How much time do I have left?” Doctor: “Ten” Man with cancer: “Months? Weeks? Days?” Doctor: “… Nine. Eight …”
My grandfather said my generation relies too much on technology. So, I unplugged his life support.
What is the worst combination of illnesses? Alzheimer’s and diarrhea. You’re running, but can’t remember where.
Why can’t you get a book on how to commit suicide at a library? Because you wouldn’t bring it back.
Where did Sharon go during the bombing? Everywhere.
I love telling jokes about orphans. What are they going to do, tell their parents?
What do you get when you cross a rabbit and a pit bull? Just the pit bull.
What do you call a dog with no legs? It don’t matter what you call it. It ain’t coming.
A man walks into his psychiatrists appointment wearing nothing but cling film. The psychiatrist takes one look at him and says “Well, I can clearly see your nuts.”
The lady janitor in my office building asked if I would hang out with her and smoke a joint. I told her “No, I can’t deal with high maintenance women.”
Shout out to my grandma since that’s the only way she can hear you.
What do you call a man who cries while he pleasures himself? A tearjerker.
What’s the difference between a Lamborghini and a dead body?
I don’t have a Lamborghini in my garage.
Grandma: Most people your age are married by now, why aren’t you? Me: Most people your age are dead by now, why aren’t you?
What’s the difference between me and cancer? My dad didn’t beat cancer.
What’s the best part about turning 60? No more calls from life insurance salesmen.
A man tells his fiancée that he has to break off their marriage because he is going to marry a different woman. She asks him, “Is it because she can cook better than me? Does she keep a really clean house?” He answers, “No, she’s actually quite a slob.” The fiancée says, “Okay, so it’s the sex then. She’s giving you wonderful love in the bedroom?” He responds with, “No, honey. You know nobody can do it like you.” She says, “Okay, it’s because she has money, and she’s going to buy you nice gifts like I do?” He responds, “No, actually, she has no money.” She says, “Okay, then what is it? What can she do that I cannot?” He answers, “She can sue me for child support.”
A ventriloquist is performing with his dummy on his lap. He’s telling a dumb blonde joke when a young platinumhaired beauty jumps to her feet. “What gives you the right to stereotype blondes that way?” she demands. “What does hair color have to do with my worth as a human being?” Flustered, the ventriloquist begins to stammer out an apology. She yells, “You keep out of this! I’m talking to that little jerk on your knee!”
Why is it that if you donate a kidney, people love you. But if you donate five kidneys, they call the police.
As I was driving, I saw the flash of a traffic camera. I figured that my picture was taken for exceeding the limit even though I knew I wasn’t speeding. Just to be sure, I went around the block and passed the same spot, driving even more slowly, but again the camera flashed. Now I knew that this was quite funny, so I drove even slower and as I passed the area again, the traffic camera flashed. I tried a fourth and fifth time with the same results and was now laughing as the camera flashed while I rolled past dead slow. To my horror, a week later, I got five tickets for driving without the seat belt.
Murphy goes into the confessional box after years of being away from the Church. He pulls aside the curtain, enters, and sits himself down. There’s a fully equipped bar with crystal glasses, the best vestry wine, Guinness on tap, cigars, and liqueur chocolates nearby, and on the wall, a fine photographic display of various women who appear to have misplaced their garments. He hears a priest come in. “Father, forgive, I think it’s been a while since I’ve been to confession, and to be sure, I must say that the confessional box is much better than it used to be.” The priest replies, “Get out, you idiot. You’re on my side!”
Ron and Mark’s Excellent Adventure
Part One
(I wrote this story back in 2000, shortly after our 1999 Ride Around South Dakota.)
This story actually begins in 1969, when my good friend, Ronnie Ray (aka Ronnie WHO???!!!) came back to his Kirkman, Iowa home after serving our Country in the United States Air Force. Ron came back to Iowa and bought a 1946 Indian Chief, his first ‘antique’ motorcycle. (If you do the math, that machine was a mere 23 years old at that time.) The bike was in fairly decent condition and Ron rode it around the countryside near Harlan and Kirkman for many years. More motorcycles have come and gone through Ron’s garage in the years that have followed, including some Harley-Davidson “45” bikes, some Triumph Twins, an Indian 101 Scout, some H-D JDs and VLs as well as a Panhead and a Knucklehead here and there, but that Old ’46 Chief is still in Ron’s stable (There is also an Indian Four in Ron’s collection, but that is another story for another time…)
dealer in Bakersfield, California right at the end of WWII and was then ridden back to the Midwest by the dealer’s nephew, as I recall. Many years later, Ron bought the bike, cleaned it up a bit and got it running. Turns out the Bobber was not only pretty darned cool to look at, it was also pretty darned fun to ride, too. Ron rotated the ‘45 Chief Bobber into his collection of old bikes.
At some point in time shortly after he picked up the ’45 Chief Bobber, Ron and I had a discussion about riding old bikes over moderately long distances. Through the course of that conversation, Ron told me that he had never ‘really’ ridden an old motorcycle any ‘real’ distance. Most of his rides were never more than 75 to 90 miles from home. Soon, the plan was underway to rectify that situation. We decided that we would take two old Indians on a trip “around” South Dakota. “Around” being defined by riding the old iron horses along the borders of South Dakota, bouncing in and out of the state and all the states that border it.
Somewhere through the years, Ron had an opportunity to buy a 1945 Indian Chief Bobber. This bike was built by an Indian
We got out some road maps and carefully planned out our trip. The plan was to be on the road for a little more than a week and to ride, more or less, the perimeter of South Dakota and in each of its bordering states. Ron planned to ride his 1945 Chief Bobber, and I would be riding my 1940 Chief Bagger, ‘Whitey.’ Ron had to be in Manitoba on business a week or so before our planned departure, so he dropped his bike off at my humble abode here in Sioux Falls for a preride inspection and tune-up. I checked the bike from top to bottom and from front to rear, tightening the loose things and loosening the tight things. It did not take a lot of time to realize that Ron’s bike was
in very good condition for a road trip like the one on which we were about to embark. After the tuning and test-riding, I fitted the bike with an old pair of leather Buco saddlebags and a rectangular stainless-steel container* over the luggage rack to be used as a toolbox. (The saddlebags hung just a little bit too low for his bike, and the dispenser/toolbox lifted them just high enough for the old leather to clear the upswept exhaust pipe on the Old Chief.)
Ron called me a few days before he came back to Sioux Falls. He asked me what he needed to bring along for the trip other than his riding gear, duffel bag, and sleeping bag. I told him that I did not have any spare 18” inner tubes and that having a spare would be a very good idea, allowing as how both our machines were equipped with 18” wheels. A couple days later, (Friday, July 23, 1999) Ron showed up with his riding gear, duffel bag, and sleeping bag, but no 18” inner tube. No big deal, right? We tied his bags onto the old bike, did one more quick inspection, and soon we were on our way!
We took some back streets through my neighborhood, past the Falls of the Big Sioux River (Sioux Falls’ namesake), the stockyards and packing house, and soon we were out of town. Once we were out in the country, we let the bikes find their “Sweet Spots” and just kicked back and enjoyed the ride! We rolled around state and county roads east and north until we were right on the South Dakota/Minnesota border. Nothing but straight lines, rolling hills, and easy two-lane blacktop roads. North, north, north we rode. Through little towns with names like Corson, Sherman, Elkton, and Astoria. Towns named Gary, Revillo, Albee, and Big Stone City. When we got to Browns Valley, Minnesota, Ron’s bike took ill. Coughing and sputtering, we limped into an old-time smalltown gas station. (Not at all unlike my Dad’s Sinclair station back in Smallsville.) It didn’t take long to figure out that Ron was having issues with the polyplastic foam float in his Linkert carburetor. I am a firm believer in the value of a good selection of spare parts while riding old bikes on the road. That having been said, I pulled a new brass float out of my saddlebag. Ron cleaned up his carburetor while I installed the new float and we were soon back on the road. We ended the first day’s ride at my soon-to-be fiancé, Kathryn’s home just a few miles west of Sisseton, South Dakota. We had covered 224 miles.
Kathryn fed us and put us up for the night. Six weeks later
I proposed to her. Fine woman, indeed! (God, I miss her!) ((Yet another story for yet another time...))
Saturday morning, July 24, 1999, Kathryn fed us her WorldFamous Hillbilly Breakfast (Perch, pancakes and eggs) and we were on the road again! That day’s ride took us west through Sica Hollow and towns like Claire City, Kidder, Hecla, Houghton, Barnard and Leola. We stopped for fuel and Gatorade in Eureka, South Dakota. The time and temperature sign on the bank read 110 degrees. I believe it, too! We soaked down our vintage cotton Buco riding skull caps with water and sat in the shade between two buildings. It was 110 degrees in the shade of those buildings, too. The wind that blew in that dark alley was a lot like the wind that blows off the end of a Rosebud torch tip: HOT!!! We sat there and re-hydrated for a bit, then got back on the bikes and rode some more. Herried, Pollock and Mobridge were the towns on that part of the trip. We backtracked a few miles through Glenham and spent the night in the Super 8 in Selby, South Dakota. Saturday was a 284-mile day.
We skipped church Sunday morning and rode our motorcycles instead. (Church can be the Great Outdoors if you believe it to be.) After leaving Selby and riding back through Glenham and Mobridge, we crossed the Mighty Missouri River for the first time on our trip. (Hence the name: Mo-Bridge!) Once on the “West River” side, we visited the graves of Sitting Bull and Sakakajawia. Heavy place, for sure. Beautiful, but heavy! We left Sitting Bull’s grave and rode north to the Rez Town of Wakpala and then took a fifteen-mile gravel back-road to Mahto (Lakota word meaning ‘Bear’). We stopped and visited with ‘locals’ in most of these little towns. The reception was almost identical in every place we stopped. The ‘locals’ treated us like we were some sort of time-travelers. And, I guess, to some extent, they were right… From Mahto, we rode back out to US Highway 12 and into McLaughlin. We continued west on US 12 through towns like Walker, McIntosh, Wautaga and Morristown, Keldron, Thunder Hawk, Lemmon, and White Butte. From White Butte, we headed south to Bison. Have you ever tried to find fuel in Bison, South Dakota on a Sunday afternoon? Let me tell you, it ain’t easy! We finally found a credit card that was ‘good’ in Bison, South Dakota and were on our way to Prairie City, Sorum, and the Jerde Ranch where we were put up for the night by our hosts, Doug and Bonnie Jerde. We had covered 216 miles that day.
Doug and Bonnie had a son named Micah. Micah was a student of mine while I was teaching at Southeast Technical Institute in Sioux Falls. He was a fine young man and a motorcycle-loving freak! He borrowed his uncle’s (then) late-model H-D FLH to take his date to the Senior Prom. Micah had dirt bikes and a Yamaha Virago, but he wanted to ride The Big Bike to his Prom. Class act, that boy! Micah passed away alone in his Sioux Falls apartment on Valentine’s Day in 1999. (Diabetes can be such a cruel killer!) Along with a couple carloads of students and other staff members, I went to Micah’s funeral in Bison on that cold February South Dakota day. His parents were more brokenhearted than any people I can ever remember in all my days, before or since. I promised them at their son’s grave (They buried Micah on their ranch, on the highest point in Perkins County.) that I would be
back to visit them, and him, on an old motorcycle. Ron and I slept in Micah’s room upstairs in the Jerde Family Ranch Home. When we got up Monday morning, we had a big old South Dakota Ranch-Style Breakfast. After breakfast, we rode our old Indians and Doug rode Micah’s Virago. We rode out of the yard and off into the rugged range land around the ranch. We took what was nothing more than a two-rut road up the side of a pretty steep hill to Micah’s grave. We hung out there for a little while and just soaked up the ‘energy’. Doug was going to lead us to see some pre-historic “tipi rings”, but Ron had already had enough offroad riding. He parked his Bobber near Micah’s grave and climbed on behind Doug on the Virago. I opted to stay on the Ol’ Whitey and follow Doug through the rough. The grass
was almost as high as the handlebars on the old Indian and the suspension was getting a thorough workout as we bounced around looking for a circle of rocks hidden on the mountaintop. I was hoping I wouldn’t ‘find’ any rocks we weren’t looking for! We found a couple tipi rings and headed back to Ron’s bike and back down the hill to the house.
For some reason, Ron’s bike wouldn’t start when it was time to say good-bye to Bonnie. Oh, I remember! Ron’s bike wouldn’t start because I had taken the rotor out of his distributor! After we watched poor Ron jump up and down on the kicker for a few minutes, I quietly slipped the rotor into Bonnie’s hand and told her to ask Ron if the part might make his bike start better. (That harmless practical joke was payback for one Ron pulled on me a day or two before. Something to do with a camera, as I recall…) Good thing for me that Ron has a good sense of humor. I’m not so sure I would have been such a good sport! Ron’s bike fired right up and we said goodbye to Bonnie. Doug wanted to ride with us for a while, so he led us back up past Sorum and into Reva. We topped up the fuel tanks in Reva (Home of the World-Famous Reva Turtle Races) and headed north towards Ralph. Doug said Ralph didn’t really exist, so we skipped that part of the ride and went straight towards Ludlow instead...
(To be continued in next month’s Issue of TRMI.)
Thanks to Bill Wilson and The Almighty Scorekeeper. Love and Respect to All, Alice (LS) Landshark, etc.
*(Ask Ronnie. He’ll tell you.)
Love and Respect to All. Alice (LS) Landshark, etc.
Postscript: It was nearly thirty-two years ago (and about 60 pounds ago!) when I made this ride and originally wrote this story. A lot has changed in my life since then, but a lot has stayed the same, too. My love for riding Old Iron on Old Back Roads is as strong as it ever was! A lot of this ride was made through the Loess Hills of Iowa. Today, living on the edge of Smallsville, I can look out my back door and see the Loess Hills just a few miles away. I had ridden a lot of The Loess before 1994 and have ridden a lot of The Loess since 1994, but that is one ride I will never forget!
United We Have a Better Chance of Winning
By Crash Davis
Life will kick you in the balls. Not to assume your gender, I didn’t mean to start out that blunt, so how can I make this sound more “gender fluid”?
Life will kick you in the crotch? Life will kick you in the privates? Life will kick you where the good Lord split you? Life will kick you squarely in the No No parts? Whatever of the previous fits you, you know that you have taken a swift kick into that proverbial part, locale, or whatever arena you might identify as.
For me, the balls, but hey you do you sweetheart. I am sure that you are adult enough or at least enough rotations around the sun to get the meaning.
Life is hard, but imagine loving something that your life partner does NOT love and how just shitty that must be.
With the spring season, well, springing and with that passion that we love leaving the garage, the basement, the shed, the trailer, or wherever our bikes have been resting all winter, it’s go time baby. With that planet rotation and tilting towards warmer days and more sunlight we know we made it…and it’s go time. I am sure it’s that and not my phone listening to me, reading my mind, feeding my already corrupt algorithms that have endless videos of all the great shit I live, laugh, and love about. So many cool videos with bikes, riding events, golf stuff, boats, dead animals getting seared to perfection over open flames, cool back yard and patio designs, Instagram “models” in this year’s upcoming swimsuit fashions. For the record, I was shopping for new suits for my wife and I for an upcoming adventure, who knew that would fill my video feeds with curves and tan lines.
Road curves ya perv. Sure, those road curves at times have big melons, but it’s not like I can control that stuff. I mean, social media just knows it’s been a while since I have done the stuff that I love and it is reminding me of what I DO INDEED love
and that I need to embrace the return of warm weather, late sunsets, early morning calm and videos where you can smell the green grass, the exhaust, the coco butter, and the bourbon.
Embrace it. I do, and it’s (to pardon the expression) balls out year ‘round. This journey is way too short to sit idly by and not slide in on your riding boots, your Hey Dudes, your Speedo (or the like) and just live your damn life.
Life is hard. It’s way harder when you don’t have a Ride Or Die that doesn’t jump right in with you and share that journey.
I have watched so many videos recently and I am sure you have seen them too. A guy is fueling up, some schmuck in a minivan will remark “Hey that is a great bike, I’d get one too, but I can’t, you know…. The Wife.”
No, I don’t f’n know. You know why? She’s inside getting us road snacks, taking a pee, grabbing water, or talking with the other people we ride with. Where is the next stop? I simply cannot relate, I will never relate, because I knew what my passions were long before I had this bride! Laid the life I lead out front, this is what I do, it would be better with you on the back, otherwise, it’s been a pleasure.
It’s not just riding. It’s my other “things” I like to do. It’s easier to fish a lot when your partner likes or understands fishing. It’s fun to fish with each other, it’s crazy right?
“Do you need permission to golf after work, Crash”? Um, no. I send a text or make a call. You know, communication and stuff. A couple of nights a week, there is a good chance she is already there with her friends or, and check this crazy stuff out, we are there with other couples doing the same thing.
It’s wacky.
We do a lot of stuff together, but also a lot of things in our own circles and that is the stuff that leads to great conversations when we are together. You seek and have your own adventures and it gives you great stuff to talk about.
All of our kids are grown, either in college or as the oldest boy, in the service, we are empty nesters and for years a great deal of time was of course spent focused on being parents,
sports, activities, all the normal stuff that goes along with being parents…and we loved all of it, zero regrets. But we also did a lot of cool stuff as a family and much of it was on the water in our boat. It was a true family event, and it was time we protected fiercely and for good reason. You only get few years with the family together like that and few summer days you get to embrace it. They are gone, and we still do it and my ride or die is the first to make the snack, pack a cooler and enjoy as many summer days with me on the boat as we can, it’s a bonus when the kids come back and hang out, but I don’t have to get rid of a hobby “because you know…The Wife.”
I love riding solo, I do it quite a bit, a few times solo with the boys, sometimes it’s the boys on bikes, the gals jump in her Jeep, and we still have a blast. But to get denied “permission” to do what gives life (riding) just seems like the most backward a$$ path of living possible.
I just love that it’s easier to live what you love when the one you love is right there supporting you or joining you in the adventure.
Let me clear something up before you think I’m bragging about my life or that I have unlocked some life hack about how to live. Nothing about life in my world is any easier than anyone else’s, not even close. We (my ride or die) have had our share of life kicking us in those tender areas. We are aware of it all, but we also know it’s all worth it. We are in this together, and we are going to do what makes us happy. We know it takes a lot of work and a lot of understanding, but the adventures are worth it. We both lost parents who were too young and didn’t get a chance to do what they really wanted to
do. They delayed the gratification, always planning on doing something “someday” and those days never came. The length of the journey is uncertain, we all know that. I know one thing for certain; we agree that is NOT going to be us. We are going to get up early on the weekend and golf. We are going to stay out too late and watch that sunset on the water, maybe have a couple three too many beverages on the patio when we really should turn in for the night and we are sure as hell getting on our bike and riding the next cool ride, the next adventure, making that next memory.
I just hope while I am gassing up, she’s inside the “Stop N Rob” and remembers to get some good riding snacks, just in case we decide to extend the ride past dinner time.
Mar 25
Ladies’ Garage Party Big Barn HD Des Moines
Mar 28-29 Chopper Show at D7 Expo Mason City
Mar 28-29 39th Annual North Iowa Motorcycle EXPO Mason City
Mar 29 Hill Blazers Hill Climb Logan
Apr 8-12 Arizona Bike Week Scottsdale, AZ
Apr 11 Ride Book Kickoff Big Barn HD Des Moines
Apr 18 Bike Blessing Route 65 HD Indianola
Apr 18 Chosen Few Iowa 2nd Annual Motorcycle Swap Meet Cedar Rapids
Apr 18 BACA Pancake Breakfast Metro HD Cedar Rapids
Apr 18 April Asada Motorcycle Show & Cookout Des Moines
Apr 25 Abate D18 Leather Run,Heartland HD Burlington
Apr 25 Bike Blessing Big Barn HD Des Moines
May 1-2 Vintage Torque Fest Dubuque
May 1 SAFR All Roads Lead to Boone Fun Run Pre-Party Boone
May 2 15th Annual Sleeping Angels Fun Run Boone
May 2 CMA Annual Bike Blessing and Run For The Son Crapo Park Burlington
May 2 International Female Rider Day Worldwide
May 2 20th Annual Cedar Rapids Chrome Divas Ride Metro HD Cedar Rapids
May 3 8th Annual Blessing of the Bikes Chapel of Praise Muscatine
May 8-10 Tenth Souls M.C. Mother’s Day Weekend Campout Nashua
May 16 B.A.C.A. 100 Mile Ride Route 65 HD Indianola
May 16 CVMA 39-1 Patriot Poker Run DeSoto
May 17 Distinguished Gentleman’s Ride Worldwide
May 21-24 Redneck Revival Conesville
May 30 Gears and Beers Mean Machine Cycles Elkhart
May 30 Blessing of the Bikes Marshalltown
Jun 5-6 Spring Open House Big Barn HD Des Moines
Jun 6 Abate D18 Memorial Ride Keokuk
Jul 25 AMVETS Riders Veterans Ride Post 82 Hudson
Jul 25 Solidarity Ride Metro HD Cedar Rapids
Aug 7-16 Black Hills Motorcycle Rally South Dakota
Aug 8
AtlanticFest Car and Bike Show Atlantic
Aug 13-23 Big Barn HD at the Iowa State Fair
Aug 14-15 Baxter Cycle Open House/Demo Day/Motorcycle Auction Marne
Aug 15 AMVETS Riders Fun Run Post 82 Hudson
Aug 15 The Rust Run Antique Motorcycle Poker Run Atlanta, NE
Aug 16 Support Our Veterans Ride LuVerne
Jun 6 AMVETS Riders Cancer Ride Post 82 Hudson
Jun 6 ABATE D6 Honor Our Heros Ride Veteran’s Home Marshalltown
Jun 6 14th Annual Chasin’ Tails Motorcycle Fun Run Nevada
Jun 13 Sons of God MC Old School Chopper & Motorcycle Show/Swap Meet Iowa Falls
Jun 13 Tenth Souls M.C. Clean and Sober Poker Run Nashua
Jun 19 Dirty Danglers Golf Tourney for 620 Foundation Metro HD Cedar Rapids
Jun 20-21 Rumble In the Sand Conesville
Aug 22 Abate D 18 Pay Back Ride VFW Burlington
Aug 22 Hell on Wheels Chopper Show #8 Franklin
Aug 22 Kyles Mile 12 Metro HD Cedar Rapids
Aug 23 2nd Annual Bike/Car Show Clarksville
Aug 28-29 Bootleggers & Bandits Car, Bike, & Big Rig Show Colfax
Nov 11 Veterans Day Pancake Breakfast Metro HD Cedar Rapids
Nov 27-28 Black Friday & Orange Saturday Big Barn HD Des Moines
Dec 12 Holiday Open House Big Barn HD Des Moines
Dec 12 Santa at Metro HD Cedar Rapids PLEASE EMAIL EVENTS TO VERNON@THUNDERROADIOWA.COM INCLUDE DATE, EVENT NAME, AND STARTING LOCATION TOWN.
ON THE COVER/CALENDAR INFO
This 1949 Panhead FL has a proper title and a backstory that belongs in a movie. After months of searching and countless phone calls, I loaded up my trailer, a stack of cash and pointed the truck toward the Ozarks.
I pulled up to what looked like an abandoned hardware store on a small-town main street. The windows were lined with choppers, the “newest” of which was a cone Shovelhead. Standing there were two guys who looked like they’d spent the last twenty years eating gravel and bench-pressing. The leader, a mountain of a man, stared at me and appeared to be more prone to bone breaking than small talk. As it turns out, the Panhead and title was collateral for a loan that never got repaid—classic biker banking. He kept mentioning “extended vacations” (prison) and “unfortunate life choices” (more prison). I was mostly confused why a guy who looked like an enforcer’s enforcer was wearing a “Jesus Saves” hat.
But then came the curveball: “We’re selling it to fund the ministry. While they were “away,” these two had found God. Initially bringing the word to brothers behind the wire they had also started a more traditional ministry to serve those who didn’t think they were worth serving.
I looked at the bike and although wiped down it was covered in a layer of grease that was likely holding the metal together and ran like it had asthma. It looked absolutely nothing like my dream bike. But the numbers matched, and the title was legit, so I figured I’d play hardball.
The second the negotiation started the larger man dropped the “Love thy neighbor” act. He knew I’d driven seven hours with an empty trailer. My ego as a negotiator evaporated. He had me. He knew Panheads better than the Apostles knew the New Testament, and he knew I wasn’t going home empty-handed. I handed over the cash, feeling like I’d just been mugged by a saint. But I got the bike and some spare parts, comforted by the fact that my money was going to a higher power and this was perhaps tax deductible.
The next morning the tear down was a blur. That evening the engine was on a stand and the frame was powerwashed. I wanted a narrow ‘60s-style chopper, and while I’d do the fabrication, I left the heavy mechanical surgery to a very good friend of mine, one who I’d bet the farm on if I
ever heard Panheads for a $1000, Alex.
Two months later—after a hundred trips to the Butterfields, a mountain of sanding discs, several tanks of gas, and some questionable bartering for scrap metal—the mock-up was done.
I turned my two-car garage into a paint booth using a sports canopy and plastic sheeting. To anyone walking by, it looked like I was either cooking meth or disposing of a body. My wife was unimpressed, even when I offered her a “free medical exam” inside the plastic curtains. Her inability to recognize a good deal is frustrating. Perhaps the smell of lacquer thinner and bad intentions clouded her judgement.
After rebuilding the top end, the bottom end, the transmission, carburetor, new plumbing, belt drive, clutch and electrical. I was staring at a mechanical house of cards. My work clearly being the weak point, I was prepared for a marathon. My last Panhead had a very binary starting ritual: it either fired up on the third kick or the thirty-third—there was no middle ground, just sweat and regret.
I set up the camera to document the struggle, gave it a few primer kicks, and turned the key. Then, in a moment that defied the laws of physics and my own self-loathing, the damn thing started on the very first kick. I was so utterly convinced it wouldn’t work out that way that I hadn’t even bothered to put on boots. I posted the video and the internet—bless its heart—ignored the pristine engine work and the unlikely fortune to focus entirely on my rubberized foam footwear, Crocs. I didn’t just start a bike; I started a digital roast where my friends and strangers were taking shots at me- I did not care though, that mf’r started on the first kick.
Personal bio’s
Jason and Amanda Messerschmidt, Missouri Valley, Army Vet, retired Police Officer, EMS pilot. No formal mechanical work or fab training- just decided to go for it and each bike I’ve learned along the way- I try to not make the same mistakes twice.
Amanda- also retired Deputy, long time K9 officer who’s now in the corporate world. Three kids and a dog. Amanda spent a lot of time in the garage during the build reading and complaining about paint fumes smells.
Photography by Mark Fountain of Fountain Photography https://www.fountainphoto.net/
